Kinsey Holley - KISS AND KIN

«Well, yeah, I'd say so. Y'all never lived together, did you? I mean when you lived with Meg and David. I can't remember.»

«No. Taran joined the Army a year before my folks died.»

They each sipped their margaritas, lost in their own thoughts.

«I'm getting buzzed here,» Lark said after a while.

«I'm getting bombed.» TJ smiled. «Wanna give me the details on the sexy sexy?»

«I'll need another 'rita before I can do that.» She laughed. She found it weird and difficult to dish personal dirt on sex, even to her closest friend in the world. «Teej?»

«Yeah?»

«I feel bonded to him. You think it's my imagination? I haven't felt this way before. With the other guys, after the first time we made love-I didn't feel this-this pull, this tether. I just feel like we're connected, and I don't…» She trailed off, unable to explain it any better.

«They say it's a two way thing,» TJ mused. «Scientists, I mean. They're not sure how it works.

They've just observed in a lot of cases-and I mean, like, a maj-maj-most of the time-« she hiccupped, and they both giggled, «-when a wolf bonds to a woman it's recip-she bonds back, you know? Nature's way, I guess.» She hiccupped again. «Someday when I'm not trashed I'll tell you all about the werewolf's limbic system.»

«The wha-huh?»

«Limbic syst-the brain, you know? Controls emotion, memory, the primal stuff. 'S where the mate switch is, they think.»

«He tried to tell me,» Lark mumbled.

«'Scuse me?» TJ demanded. «What'd you say?»

«I said, I think he tried to tell me. He ashked me-he asked me to stop him, or make him stop, or if I wanted to st-whatever, you know? Like he felt guilty. I thought it washh just the big brother thing, like he wash-was-trying to protect me. Cause he does that, you know. Really pisses me off. Always Mr. Bossy.»

«Um, alpha, shweetie.»

«Well, that's no way to run a relashunship. Mr. Sensitive he ain't.»

«But now you're his mate, you can do something about that. You can't really change him, and he'll shtill be a-a alpha-crap, I think I've had enough.»

Lark sighed drunkenly. «Me too. I can't go to bed like this.»

«Me neither.»

«We need to eat. Wanna order pizza?»

«Sounds good. You call.» TJ managed to lurch into the kitchen with an armload of glass and no bumps or bleeding. She called from the kitchen a minute later.

«Hey, Lark?»

«Yeah?» she replied as she wiped the margarita rings off the table.

«There's a big brown werewolf across the street, shtaring-staring straight at my kitchen window.»

She sat down on the couch. «Okay. Is that shtalking, or is that guarding?»

«Let's call it guarding, and let's ignore it. Call for pizza.»

«Okay.» She pulled out her cell, but didn't dial. «Teej?» she wailed. «I don't wanna call Papa John's! I wanna call Taran. Like right now, and tell him I'm sorry, and I love him, and-« TJ staggered back into the living room. «NO. Lark Manning, no. Drunk dialing ish not what you need to do right now. Even I know that, and I'm drunker than you. Here.» She held out her hand.

«Gimmee your cell phone.»

«I could just call him from your phone, you know.»

«Oh. Yeah. Okay, don't. Bad idea.» She stood up, swayed, righted herself. «Lish-listen to me.

You need to take a few days and think this over, sweetie. He's not going anywhere. This is a huge change in your life. Don't act on impulsh-« She hiccupped. «I'm drunk, but I'm right. Sleep on this a while. Get ushed to it before you call.»

«I know, I know, you're right,» she said miserably.

Her every nerve screamed to call him, run to him. On the other hand, she'd acted on pure emotion earlier, and look where it got her. She needed to get her head straight before she poured her heart out.

He spent the next six nights on four feet outside TJ's apartment, enlisting friends always willing to help a wolf guard his mate. Maintaining a discreet stance in the shadows of the office complex across the street, someone kept an eye on Lark's arrivals and departures from dusk to daybreak.

Between the apartment surveillance and the GPS tracker on her car, he covered her as well as he could hope.

She could see her uninvited security detail, but so what. He didn't do it to goad her into communicating; he did it to protect her life.

He'd anticipated complaints from people in the area. Even in a twenty-first century metroplex, many people recoiled at werewolves loitering about in public. After dropping a couple hints to the rent-a-cop who drove the little golf cart-he didn't explicitly call it a stakeout, but if the rent-a-cop got that idea, Taran wouldn't disabuse him of the notion-no one approached him or his buddies.

It reminded him of stories older werewolves told, of the days before werewolves came out.

Everyone knew certain parts of the city and surrounding countryside-Memorial, Katy, Sugar Land-experienced less crime than other areas. Most people assumed higher incomes made safer neighborhoods. Residents knew better. Even the roughest working class parts of Sugar Land suffered little crime. Something besides money or fear of cops protected those neighborhoods.

Years later, everyone learned it was werewolves. Good werewolves ate bad guys.

He called Nick three times a day, to see if the roughneck had emailed the could-be photo of Kuba and if the lawyer had called about a poker game. By Monday, Nick quit answering his phone.

Taran started calling from other people's numbers, but TJ started taking Nick's calls, and he couldn't bring himself to talk to her. Once, after answering the phone and hearing nothing for a few seconds, she said, «Taran, do you want to talk? We could talk.»

He could handle a hell of a lot-Army Ranger training, live combat, gang violence, formal challenges, his mother's attempts to fix him up, his first unsolvable case, even his mate's rejection.

He couldn't handle Tyler Jean Turner's sympathy. He hung up on her.

Nick finally called on Thursday afternoon as Taran drove back to headquarters after making arrests in a moonshine ring. He could still solve cases, just not his most important one.

«Hail, Alpha. This humble wolf is grateful for your attention.»

«Watch the 'tude, wolf. You want to talk about Lark, I'm listening. I just got tired of telling you I hadn't heard from my wolves.»

«Oh well, at least TJ is doing real secretarial work for a change.»

«TJ's my assistant, not my secretary, she works her ass off, and that's the last attitude warning you're getting.» Nick paused for a minute. «She's worried about you.»

«I'm not comfortable with that.»

«She's worried about both of you. Lark is-« «I can't talk about Lark, Nick. Not attitude, just fact. You calling about my case?»

Nick exhaled sharply, and he steeled himself for another tongue-lashing, perhaps a command to submit for discipline. But after another pause, Nick said only, «Yeah. Lawyer's name is Petri. He'll meet you tomorrow night at seven. Warehouse downtown, 7000 block of McKinney, white brick with red trim. There's a goth club in the front of the building. Go around to the back, gray door, tell them Petri sent you, password is Brunson.»

He laughed in spite of himself. «Fuck. It's like an old speakeasy. If the cops show up do all the tables slide into the floor or something?»

«No idea,» Nick replied drily. «What do you expect, with the dumbass gambling laws we have?

Petri will meet you inside. Tall, blonde, yuppie, radiates lawyerness. He's nervous as hell about bringing a cop, but I told him you're my best friend. You better just hope Vice doesn't have a raid planned tonight.»

«I'll make certain they don't. Thank you, Nick. This could be the break I need.»